Frontiersman Tales
by Elielephant
Summary: Bigfoot? Fake. Ghost? Really fake. Sea Monster? Nicely crafted, but fake. Unidentified...flying object? ...Yeah, that's fake, too. Headless Horseman? Fak...wait? What?


Something for fun. Might be a little OoC for Connor because this is for humor, and maybe a little bit of an annoying OC(?), but hopefully everything balances out in the end. And sorry for grammar mistakes.

Disclaimer: I own nothing AC, but OC is mine.

* * *

Frontiersmen Tales

_The Legend of Bigfoot_

White teeth glistened against red gums as the wolf growled at him viciously Connor remained calm, his eyes fixed firmly on the animal, and when the wolf leaped for the attack, he quickly dodged and then swiftly turned around and rammed his hidden blade into the fur and flesh. The wolf yelped at the pain as blood stained its pelt, and then it was silent.

Well, that was the last of them. He stood up from his crouch over the dead animal and wiped his cheek of blood with the back of his hand. Then he whistled to his companion, Marigold, that had left his side for the battle against the wolves and then from behind, the sound of hooves crinkling leafs came to his ears. The familiar presence of his horse came to his side and he mounted quickly and then waved a hand over his shoulder to Marigold, signaling for her to follow. Against the sunrise along the horizon as they rode on, Connor saw the glowing shadows of the camp not too far off. They made their way over and then dismounted at the local Frontiersmen's camp.

Connor sat on the ground cross-legged beside Boone, the old man rubbing his hands behind the fire as he sat on a small tree stump.

Marigold huffed, frowning as the tip of her boot kicked up a small cloud of dirt, so she remained standing because she was stubborn with getting her new white assassin's robes dirty, not matter how many times Connor would tell her it's hopeless to even try to keep them clean.

The fire crackled loudly as the small group huddled around the flames for warmth from the chilly winds, but then Boone clapped his hands together and looked to Connor. "I've got a story," he said with a grin. "_'_Bout the Legend of Bigfoot. It stands upright as a man, but its whole body is covered in a thick pelt. Its gait is slow and lurching I've seen it with my own two eyes," and he emphasizes by pointing at his them. "It's clever, always at a distance or with something between us—like it knows where I'm gunna be before I get there. Things go missing where it goes, that much is certain. All manner of trinket; took a man's prize buck antlers clear of his cabin wall. Takes kills outta traps too, wrenchin'em open with his big mitts. Some body should find it and bring back its head for the world to see."

Connor nodded and silently accepted this challenge as well.

~…~

Connor knelt down and inspected the footprints in the mud by the little stream. It was human, but much larger than any human male's print he had seen in all his years as a tracker. This seemed like a promising trail to follow.

"Err, Conner."

He looked over his shoulder to Marigold, his brow rising as he watched her fidget back and forth with a nervous look on her features while her thumb and forefinger fiddle with the tip of her cowl. "Yes?"

"Are we really going to look for this thing?" She asked anxiously.

"Yup," Connor nodded as he stood back up. "You don't have to come if you don't want."

She pressed her lips in a thin line of thought, but then she shook her head. "I'll come. I stood back the last errand Boone sent us on."

"Alright then," Connor replied, turning to look up steam as he placed his hands on his hips and he examined the terrain. Full of thick underbrush, large rocks and even larger trees. "Looks like we have to go on foot from here; the horses can't make it through this area."

Marigold sighed, patting her white robes that still had that pinch of perfection. "And it looks like it's going to get dirty, won't it…"

"Yup," Connor replied and started to move forward.

~…~

Connor quickly grabbed Marigold's arm when he heard the sharp intake of breath and he pulled her back to his side. The cliff was slipper from the waterfall, but they needed to go behind it because the trail to the Sasquatch led them that way. She muttered a quiet thanks under her breath and then they continued on inching along the slippery edge until they reached a tunnel's entrance.

Connor leaned around the corner and peered in. It looked lighter on the inside than he thought for such a dark and dank place, which meant only one thing: something was living down there and it was smart enough to have fire to light it's path.

Marigold cautiously held onto him and leaned forward to see as well. She frowned at the sight. "It doesn't look welcoming…"

"If I was a beast and was known for thievery, killing and being clever, and place like this would be difficult to find, making it a _clever_ place to stay because the possessions I stole would be hidden and I would be safe," Connor explained as he moved away from the wall and started to sneak into the tunnel.

Marigold groaned, glaring at him in annoyance. "Well, to some people you are already known as a _beast_," she factually said for the sake of winning the argument.

Connor looked back at her, his brow rising. "I think the term you are thinking of is _savage_, which I'm not," and then he turned back to the tunnel

"I—I didn't mean _that!_" Marigold yelped, scurried from her spot at the entrance and to his side.

"I know," he smirked and gently pushed her, a friendly action among companions, but the action made her loose footing and there was the sound of a _thump_, a yelp, and then a _splash_. He flinched and looked to the side slowly and saw her sitting in a puddle of mud with a murderous glare pointed directly at him. "Um…oops?"

~…~

"I said I was sorry," Connor repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time during their time in the tunnels.

"I know," Marigold huffed as tried to remove the globs of mud from her robes. "But that doesn't mean I'm not mad."

"It's not that bad that they got dirty…" Connor continued, trying to make her feel better. "They were bound to in the end, anyway. With our line of work, especially in the Frontier, clothes will get dirty."

"I know, I know," Marigold sighed in defeat, giving up on salvaging the whiteness her robes formerly had. "But still, they were brand new and I wanted them to last at least _one_ day."

"There was no way that was going to happen," Connor replied bluntly. "You should have picked a different color, like brown. It blends with all the mud and no one would be able to tell if it's dirty or not."

Marigold scowled at him.

Connor locked eyes with her, seeing such a dark look in her light blue eyes. "…sorry," he mumbled and continued on.

Marigold had nothing left to say on the matter and merely huffed, crossing her arms over her chest childishly and followed after him.

But then he stopped suddenly; there was movement up ahead. Marigold lost her angry demeanor and shuffled closer to Connor, nervous about what was up ahead. They both tip-toed closer to the sound of bare feet splashing through puddles and as the sound got louder, their hands hovered over their weapons ready to strike in case whatever was up ahead was hostile in nature.

When at a dead end, their caution was at an all time high, but they faltered at the sight of a homey space so deep within the tunnel. A bed, table and clotheslines decorated the area, but then they relaxed when they saw their host.

An abnormally large man that's body was covered head to toe in hair and animal furs stepped out from behind a stretch of rope with clothes and sheets hanging from it. He looked no different then the Frontiersmen, only two feet taller and maybe a bit more hairy.

The man blinked, tilting his head to the side. "I never get visitors. I'm one for privacy though, but a good visitor or two is never a bad thing. So, I should be a good host; would you both like some tea? I took some from some travelers the other day…"

Connor sighed and shook his head; this was the legendary Bigfoot.

* * *

_Haunted Lighthouse_

Bigfoot turned out to be nothing by a myth started by folks that were startled by the very large man's bewildering appearance, but he did steal their things…that part of the myth was true. Though, when Connor went back to Boone to tell him this, the old man simply went onto telling him a new myth: that of the haunted Boston Lighthouse.

"I'd been out in the puckerbrush for six weeks. Game was scarce in the area and my belly needed fillin' so a broke for the coast and some crab or lobster from the tide pools. That's when I saw _it_," Boone said eerily, wiggling his fingers slowly by firelight, his face turned at the right angle to make all the shadows along his face look long in the setting sun.

The sight made Marigold shift uncomfortably as she sat on her heels and she moved closer to Connor. She may have been used to Boone's way of story telling by now, but she never did like it when he purposely tried to scare her.

"A lighthouse said to have been abandoned years ago," Boone continued. "But there it was fires a burnin'. Then the sound happened. A moaning in the wind; my heart crept up my throat so high I could taste it. Just then a ten point buck startled and I took after it. Got the buck but never went back to the lighthouse. Spirits in there I wager. I'd challenge any man to venture nearby."

Connor nodded his head; he accepted this challenge, too.

~…~

Connor and Marigold stood at the foot of the old lighthouse and tilted their heads to the side, then to the other side.

"Is that…" Marigold started to ask.

"Yup," Connor cut her off.

She looked between the top of the old lighthouse and him skeptically. "Are you—?"

"Yup," Connor cut her off again

"Then, go climb up and see if it really is," she then said, pointing to the top.

Connor looked at her, his brow rising. "_I_ climb it? Why don't _you_ climb it?"

"Because you are a faster climber than I," she argued simply as she glanced away while teetering back and forth on her heels.

"As an Assassin in training, I believe it would be better if you climbed such an easy thing, for practice's sake," Connor replied.

"That may be true," Marigold agreed. "But I still think it would be better if you climbed because it's faster."

Connor glared at her, annoyed. "We are going in circles, and I'm ending it. Go and climb," he ordered and then nudged her in the direction of the light house.

Marigold grumbled under her breath, but she did what was asked and climbed the light house as Connor stood on the ground giving her little hints on which way to go and what to hang onto so she would end up slipping on a loose rock. Upon reaching the top, she placed a hand to her chin and observed the cloaked object perched on the balcony before pushing it over the edge so it landed only a meter from Connor's feet.

Then she leaned over the railing and called down to him. "You're right, it's fake!"

Connor sighed, shaking his head as he placed his hands on his hips. The ghost of the haunted lighthouse: a crudely nailed wooden stand with a bucket head and a cloak wrapped around it to finish it off.

~…~

Connor and Marigold crouched in the bushes, waiting for the larger than normal patrol of Redcoats to pass by. Marigold started to get fidgety; she had trouble staying in one position for too long. And it seemed she was coming down with a cold because she sneezed. Connor quickly slapped a hand over her mouth and watched as a nearby soldier became alert and tightened his grip on his musket. But when there was no other sound, and the commanding officer called him back, the soldier hurried away.

When the coast was clear, Connor removed his hand and then glared at her.

"What?" She huffed, returning the annoyed stare. "It's not my fault."

"You could have held it in," Connor countered as he stood up slowly.

"We are surrounded by bunch of leafs and twigs," Marigold rebutted, waving her arms around all the objects she was implying. "If anything it's your fault because you chose the place!"

"Well the only other option would have been the trees," Connor told her, pointing up. "And that wouldn't have worked because you, yourself, said that you can't climb fast and finding the right knots in a tree is harder than climbing a brick building. So, either way, we would have been doomed."

Marigold's cheeks flushed red. "_Why you…_" and she dashed after him, to which Connor ran away.

In the past, she would have never been able to catch him, but since she had been training, she could keep up fairly well, and at this moment, even caught him, but not in the way she intended. She had aimed to wrap her arms around his neck from behind to take him down, but he sprinted just an inch more and her aim went to his waist and she ended up knocking her nose against his bow as they went to the ground.

"_Ouch!_" She squealed after the impact to the ground and she sat back on her heels to clutch hr bruised nose.

"You knew it was coming," Connor bluntly stated.

Marigold slowly opened her eyes a fraction to glare at him. "You could say something nice since I'm hurt," she mumbled, a small pout in her voice.

Well, Connor did think she had a certain...look about her when she was blushing and vulnerable; he figured it was cuteness. He waited to long and didn't get this out in the open in time though.

"If you have to think about it, then don't worry 'bout it," she huffed, still rubbing her nose. Then she stood up, her eyes fixed in front of her and her brows knitted together in confusion.

Connor's brows furrowed together and he looked in the same direction, seeing that the Frontiersmen's camp was abandoned. They must have left because of the British troops passing by. Connor quickly got off the ground and then made his way to the camp to look for clues of where they went. Looking at the prints briefly, he then looked up. "It looks like…they went to Boston."

* * *

_Good Ole' Neisse_.

Connor pushed open the door to the tavern. The first person he saw was sitting at a lone table in the corner where he could see everything coming in and out: Little Duncan, one of the fellow Assassins left to watch over Boston during the war. He sat firmly with an emotionless look on his face, but when Connor and Marigold came through the door, that stone-hard look melted to a large grin and he frantically waved his hand at them.

Connor blinked; Little Duncan must have needed to tell him something important, but by the look on his face it really wasn't. And then Boone was also here; he and his fellow Frontiersmen sitting in the middle of the bar telling stories. Then Boone noticed him and waved him over. Now Connor had two people to talk to, with two equally 'important' things to tell him and he didn't want to offend one by going to the other. Oh, the conflict.

"I'll talk to Duncan," Marigold then spoke up, patting Connor on the shoulder and then strolled over to Little Duncan, returning the wave.

Would it be a bad thing to say that he forgot Marigold was there? Yes, it would be. But he wouldn't tell her that; she was already mad enough at him about her stained robes, even though he told it would happen before it happened, and not saying something nice, aloud, to her.

…

That aside, he walked over to Boone and took a sit, ready to tell the Frontiersman that he was wrong, again, about the ghost, but Boone didn't even let him speak and simply went onto the next myth.

"I'm not one for sailing but I know it's out there," Boone said, pointing towards the window that framed the foggy harbor. "Some call it a kraken, others just a sea monster. They say its fifty feet long if it's an inch and it rolls ships for sport. You won't find me out on the high sea searching for the beast, that's a guarantee I can give you, but it's a riddle that needs solving."

Connor sighed and decided just for the heck of it, he would figure this one out, too.

~…~

After eavesdropping on many a conversations, Connor and Marigold then spoke with a weeping widow who said he late-husband was misunderstood about the sea beast. It was confusing at first, but when he and Marigold got to the private dock, they saw what the widow meant.

Connor poked the large metal pot with weird objects attached to it so it looked like some monster's head. "Only another rumor, it seems," he said, crossing his arms over his chest; this seemed to be an easier one out of all the myths.

Marigold then stepped forward, picking the pot and looked it over and then experimented by placing it over her head. Then she looked to Connor. "What do you think?" She asked, her voice muffled by the metal.

"Belongs in the trash," Connor innocently answered, but it only earned him a crude punch in the arm. "Hey! I meant the costume, not you!"

Marigold huffed and crossed her arms over her chest childishly and then turned away from him, pot still on her head. Though, she was about to take it off when her foot nicked one of the costume's 'tentacles' and with a splash, she was in the water.

It was shallow, luckily, and she was able to throw the pot away, but then she had to try and untangle herself from the many ropes and wires around her legs.

Connor peered down at her from the edge of the pier. "For the record; this isn't my fault."

* * *

_Unidentified Flying Object_

After helping Marigold detangle herself from the costume and then getting her a warm blanket and fireplace to sit in front of at the tavern, Connor went to Boone to ask him about the next story; he didn't even both with trying to tell him about his findings.

"The first time I saw the light was back in Boston," Boone started as he patted the tabletop he was sitting at. "I was trading my biggest take of the season when it rose from behind Beacon Hill. Went straight up in the night sky, passed the moon. Then it was gone. I wasn't alone. Those next to me had their heads cocked the same—craned as far back as it could go—mouths agape. Couldn't tell you what it was but I can tell you it wasn't of this earth."

Connor sighed and shook his head, but accepted the challenge anyway.

~…~

"Connor, I don't think anything is here," Marigold said as she looked around the foggy perch atop the hill.

Connor merely grunted and slowly did another turn around. If it was seen in the skies, then his clue would be there, too, but then he noticed something amiss in the bare tree, a shadow that did no belong. "Wait…wait one second," Connor finally said and swiftly walked over to the tree and then climbed the cracked bark until he was on the highest branch that could hold his weight.

"What are you doing?" Marigold called up to him.

Connor answered her by removing the rumored flying object and knocked it to the ground, similar to how Marigold knocked over the fake ghost, but it was more graceful by far.

The object floated slowly down until it landed at Marigold's feet. She tilted her head to the side and then bent over to pick it up. "It's a parasol." She said and twirled it before resting it against her shoulder like the noble lady she was.

"Yup," Connor agreed as he jumped down from the tree limb. He took a crouch as he landed and then he stood back up, dusting off the loose leafs that fell on his robe.

"So, what do you think?" Marigold asked as she continued to twirl the parasol resting against her shoulder, making it seem like she was a young teen flirting with only her eyes, if he could even see her eyes from behind the dark shadow covering them.

But, Connor wasn't about to make the same mistake again, so he said: "Pretty."

She was satisfied with this answer and smiled at him before skipping off back to the bar, humming along the way.

A ghost of a smirk spread on his lips; brownie points for him.

~…~

Walking back into the tavern, Connor noticed the table where the Frontiersmen were sitting was empty.

"Where'd they go…?" Marigold questioned slowly. "We weren't that long," then she glanced to Connor. "Were we?"

"Well, it did take us longer than it should have," Connor answered. "So, yup."

Marigold blinked at him, but then she glared, annoyed.

Connor stared back. "…what? It's true."

Marigold just shook her head and quietly walked over to Little Duncan who was standing at the bar.

Connor followed suit and upon reaching the bar, he placed a hand on Little Duncan's shoulder, and his fellow Assassin greeted him, but Connor didn't have time to chat. "Do you know where the men that were sitting other there went?" He asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to the vacant seats.

Little Duncan rubbed his chin in thought. "Hmm, left awhile ago, said something about going back to camp, wherever that is."

Marigold sighed, hanging her head low. "Back to the Frontier."

"Yup," Conner nodded, and then briskly turned on his heel to the door.

* * *

_Legend of Sleepy Hallow_

Back on the Frontier, Connor and Marigold found Boone and his mates at their usual camp. The group was still settling in and making sure no one, like the British that passed by, stole anything. Though, Boone was already sitting on his stump, warming his hands by the fire.

Connor walked over with Marigold close behind and sat by the fire with him

"I've never seen him myself but I've heard the stories from here to Kentucky," Boone started, not even questioning about the other myths and how they turned out. "A German mercenary—Hessians they call ' em—was fighting a battle when a cannonball took his head clean off. His whole battalion was routed and they lost the encounter. But the lad didn't die. He's been wandering the bush on horseback around the battlefield ever since, searching for his head, chasin' innocents when he sees 'em, taking their domes for his own. He wears a pumpkin head for now, until he finds what he's looking for. Like I said, I haven't seen 'em, but I have seen the bodies he leaves lying about, headless and grotesque. God rest their souls."

Connor grimaced at the story; if this turned out to be fake then he and Marigold had a really messed up killer on their hands. This could not end well.

~…~

"I didn't like the sound of that story, Connor," Marigold shivered, hugging her arms. "It gave me the chills."

"You aren't the only one," Connor agreed, scanning the area for any clues from his spot on horseback. "But this one we have to investigate. If there is a killer beheading the innocent out there, then he needs to be stopped. Now, come on; let's go," and he flicked the reins so his horse went into a fast trot along the road.

Marigold sighed, but followed after him. The scenery passed by quickly and nothing seemed out of the ordinary to her, it all looked calm and peaceful. To Connor though, there was another story.

He suddenly stopped, pulling at the reins of his horse. "Whoa," he muttered to his restless steed, but then he dismounted and traveled towards the brush on the side of the road.

"W—what is it?" Marigold stuttered, jerking the reins of her horse rear towards where Connor stood. She gasped at the site of headless corpse rotting there in the grass, swimming in its own blood, fresh. She choked on her own breath then she looked away and covered her mouth to hold in what little food she had had in the past few days.

"It looks like we're on the right track," Connor sighed deeply, shaking his head sadly as he stood up and walked back to his horse.

"I—I really don't like this Connor," Marigold spoke up with her concerns again. "I really, really don't."

"Neither do I," Connor replied as he mounted his horse. "But at least we know it can't be real right? Bigfoot was a phony, so was the ghost, sea monster and the flying craft. It had just been one big, long trail of rumors. There is nothing to worry about. Well, besides the killer that likes to behead people, but he is only human, which means he dies like any other."

"That…that surprisingly doesn't make me feel better," Marigold dryly said with a thin frown.

"…sorry?" Connor apologized, unsure if it would change her mind, which it didn't because the environment decided to make it worse.

A fog rolled in, an unnatural fog; it even looked as if it was tinted green. The horses then grew more restless and would not move an inch unless it was backwards. But then a throaty laughter came from the fog, echoing in their ears, the tone sounding completely menacing. Connor instantly had a hand on his tomahawk and he glanced to the side, seeing that Marigold had hesitantly followed his actions by placing a hand on her saber, but she visibly gulped, nervous of the situation. There was going to be a fight, but luckily it would be two on one.

Though sadly, this was a two versus one that they didn't want to be in.

From the fog came a pitch black stallion and it's rider in ebony robes with a pumpkin that had a wicked expression craved on it for a face, and the eyes and crooked smile glowed neon green eyes. It was the Headless Horseman.

Marigold wasted no time screaming bloody murder like a banshee when she saw the myth in the flesh. Then like a bat fresh out of hell, she turned her horse around and dashed off.

Clenching his teeth, Connor was quick to follow because he didn't think fighting the supernatural and winning was in his cards that day, even if Marigold had stayed.

~…~

At the homestead, Marigold dismounted before her horse even came to a complete stop and she was sprinting into the house with Connor hot on her heels. She climbed the steps in a breeze and then turning sharply, she ran into Connor's room a dove under the covers, and then Connor slipped under the blankets with her.

They laid there in silence, sheets over their heads as they hid from something supernatural. But then she spoke up. "Do you think if followed us?" She whispered.

"I don't know," Connor answered quietly. "But if it did then maybe it will take Achilles's head and then leave because the hot temper of the old man will make it explode to pieces—_oof!_" he gasped as something came down on his gut.

Marigold screamed, thinking that the headless horseman got him, but when groans of pain continued to come from Connor and there was no blood, she saw it was something else. And the third voice to the conversation.

"I heard that, you selfish brat."

Connor removed the blankets from over top of them, but Marigold snatched it up and pulled it up to her nose. Connor ignored this and glared at his mentor.

Achilles returned the harsh look as he leaned against the support of his cane and said: "You deserved it for your bitter words. And might I ask what caused you to speak such fowl words against your teacher; because of our arguement? A lame excuse, my boy, a lame excuse," he tsked, shaking his head disapprovingly.

"You don't know what we saw," Connor snapped sharply. "You wouldn't understand!"

"I understand you both look like you saw a ghost when you came charging in," Achilles calmly said. "So what is it that you _exactly_ saw?"

"The Headless Horseman," Connor said with upmost seriousness.

Achilles stared at them blankly for a second. Then he opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it and shook his head. "You two have been running around chasing myths for too long. I bet you would become the next big myth, Connor, as the worst suitor for a woman; the story behind it," he looked to Marigold. "Scaring a poor girl half to dead with a rumor because you thought it would be fun to listen to the crazy old bat Boone," he scoffed, turning to wobble out of the room.

Connor's cheeks flared red with rage, or embarrassment, and in defense, he shouted. "Well, you'll become a myth, too, old man! The myth of the grouchy old man on the hill that scares everyone he meets to death, literally!"

Achilles then stopped, looked over his shoulder and smirked. "Damn right I will become a legend, and maybe on day I'll have Frontiersmen telling my story and have young Assassin's running after them," and then he left with a chuckle.


End file.
